


Honey Off a Thorn

by poisontaster



Series: Dogs of War [4]
Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Licking, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bed is a trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey Off a Thorn

**Author's Note:**

> _Living is like licking honey off a thorn._ ~Louis Adamic

Sleeping with Joshua is making him soft.

He doesn't mean the sex, because the sex is fine. The sex is five by five. The sex does not need correction. But the actual sleeping? It's a problem.

First, it was the bed. Alec doesn't even know where or how Joshua got the thing, an enormous jigsaw monster of wood and metal, let alone the box spring and mattress. It takes up almost the whole cubbyhole bedroom of the falling-down house. Not that—to be fair—either one of them has much else for which they need to have the space.

Max suspects the Nomolies have their own tunnels, ones too toxic or misshapen—twisty—maybe even ones they dug themselves; Alec thinks it goes a step further than that and that the Nomolies are running their own black market but he hasn't said anything to Max about it. She'd probably say it was his idea anyway, say it was the reason he got in good with Joshua in the first place.

Anyway, the bed. It's huge. Which is probably a good thing, because neither of them are small guys, but after a lifetime of sleeping on narrow, thin-mattressed military-grade racks—or lesser accommodations than that—it feels like the height of decadence to wallow in its sighing, body-shaped hollow, worn soft and tired by an unknown number people before them.

And then there's the blankets.

Alec doesn't know where they came from, either. Some of them, like the particularly psychedelically hideous orange, blue and purple afghan, he suspects that Joshua made himself, though the thought of Joshua knitting—or crocheting, Alec's not sure of the difference—with his big, knotty hands seems absurd to the point of tears. Or it would be, to anyone who's never had those hands on them, dragging a delicately orchestrated, mind blowing orgasm out of them, anyway. Alec knows what those hands are capable of, bruising strength or the lightest, tickling touch.

But the blankets. At Manticore, it was a straightforward business: ground sheet, top sheet, wool blanket. Out on his own, Alec had traded for a thicker, softer blanket than the standard Manticore Brillo pad, but he'd mostly stuck with the format since, hey, it worked and sleep wasn't really his thing, anyway. Joshua… Alec can't even figure out how many quilts and blankets and church charity afghans Joshua's got tangled up in Technicolor vomit across the bed's surface. They both run hot at the best of times and every one of those blankets seems to take the combined ambient heat of their bodies and collect it, multiply it, radiating it back to sink deep into sore muscles and tight-knotted tendons, turning him as limp and noodly-limbed as a rag-doll and filling him with a sense of _don't wanna move_ contentment that he regards as suspicious just on principle.

The bed? Man, the bed is a freaking _trap_.

And now this.

Wet, warm pressure, stroking from the base of his jaw up his cheek to curl ticklishly into the spiral of his ear. A second lick, this time beneath his jaw, following the bone back to where it arcs up to his earlobe which is slowly suckled between sultry puffs of breath.

"What are you doing?" Alec doesn't move. Doesn't even open his eyes.

It's not easy for Joshua to be quiet but in the early morning, he usually manages, growly and flannel-voiced with sleep. There's the light prick of teeth on Alec's skin before Joshua says, "Like the way you taste."

Alec huffs, fingertips twitching as Joshua goes back to licking. Slow strokes against his chin, the cords of his throat, the hard tendons leading into the shoulder. It's a little gross, all this closeness—Joshua's limbs thrown half over his and _hello there,_ what's that against his thigh?—all this spit, but there's something oddly soothing about it, too, the molasses slow unreality of waking dreams and warm, soft, _trap_ beds.

"I've got something else you can lick, if you really want to," Alec offers finally, because some things have to be said. He's got a reputation to maintain. It comes out less leeringly suggestive than he meant it to, though, sounding more hopeful than anything.

Wet snort. "Impatient kitty. Get there soon enough." Slow hump against Alec's thigh gives the promise of things to come, oh yeah.

"I'm just saying…" One of those big hands Alec was mentally singing the praises of a moment ago covers Alec's mouth. _O-kay. Guess I'm not saying anything._

He's willing to play along for the moment; Joshua's heavy, but there's enough wiggle room to get away if he wants to.

_(if he needs to)_

Probably, anyway. Part of what makes it good is the uncertainty, being just that half-inch in over his head.

Joshua shifts, covering more of Alec. His cock is thick, solid weight as it slips into the join of Alec's hip and Alec whines, liking it but also wanting it where it'll do him more good. He writhes up, but Joshua just ignores him, still moving slow, dreamy, like they have all the time in the world, like they'll never have to do anything again but lie here in the cloud of the bed, tangled up in each other.

Joshua laps the corner of Alec's mouth, pointed tip darting under the side of Joshua's hand before his hand moves away, baring more of Alec's lips to the sweep of his tongue. Alec—completely helpfully—opens his mouth, but it only entices Joshua to outline his lips, lick across the lines of Alec's teeth.

_Josh—_ is what he means to say, but he only gets as far as the, "J—" before Joshua surges up, grinding their mouths together, tongue filling Alec's mouth. And this, _this_ , is the honey that keeps dragging him back into this trap; Alec stretches under that bigger body, lets Joshua roll over him like a wave.

It's only a trap if you let yourself be caught, after all.


End file.
